


Facsimile

by prairiegrass



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiegrass/pseuds/prairiegrass
Summary: Jared wants what he can never have.But that's ok. He's used to pretending.





	Facsimile

Day in and day out, Gilfoyle’s been watching Jared give Richard those lingering, lovelorn glances – stolen in the mornings as the team filters in, or while Jared’s busy in the kitchen offering Richard coffee or a meal, or when Richard storms off to pout about whatever petty bullshit has his panties in a twist, and Jared follows behind, bringing his consolation and support. The whole thing makes him sick.

Tonight Anton’s acting uncharacteristically finicky, which will at least give him some respite from the daily inanities of life at the hostel. He makes his way to the garage-cum-server room-cum-Jared’s bedroom, and an hour later he’s still elbow-deep inside Anton, hair pulled away from his face in a low ponytail.

Jared enters just as he finishes the repairs. He’s already in his sleepwear, and, judging by the floral scent he carries, freshly showered. Though he acts surprised to find Gilfoyle here, he quickly finds his composure and offers to put on the kettle.

“I’m not your guest, Jared,” Gilfoyle replies shortly, and starts packing up his equipment. The still-hot soldering iron is tinned before it’s turned off and unplugged; the spool of solder is snugly nestled alongside the flux and alcohol. Once the tools are stowed away, he turns, arms crossed, leaning against the server rack and watching Jared still bustling about to provide accommodations for him.

“Of course not! This is your space as much as it’s mine. I apologize if I gave the impression that I thought you were intruding.”

"I mean that you don't have to do all this. Making us tea, packing our bags, fixing Richard's clothes any time he's got his collar askew. Touching his back while you guide him through breathing exercises. Writing his name in company documents like you're writing the name of a schoolboy crush. Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole here, but you clearly have hedonistic lusts that are going unmet. I don't know what it is you see in in that petulant, pretentious prick, but he's _straight_. You do know that, right?"

"Oh, no, no, I don't – I don't make it my business to know about my colleagues' sexual preferences –"

"I, on the other hand," Gilfoyle interrupts, extricating himself from the rack of servers and moving into Jared's corner of the room, "have no such qualms about how or with whom I relieve my carnal impulses."

The teabags Jared had chosen from his assorted collection now lie forgotten by the kettle, and his brow has a soft furrow even as he looks Gilfoyle straight on.

"Gilfoyle, what are you saying?"

"Don't be playing coy _now_. 'This guy fucks,' right? You and I both know what it is you need. Owning up to it won't make it worse."

Jared seems to reflect on this. Gilfoyle is confident in the truth of what he's saying, but Jared's gaze is distant as he stands there, apparently still trying to process it.

"Jared, I already said I'm really not trying to be an asshole. Listen, I'd even be willing to help you out here, alright?"

Gilfoyle rubs the edge of his hand against the bulge in his jeans. It's a subtle action, but unmistakably clear. The gravity of the situation seems to finally settle in Jared, who slowly, deliberately, nods his head in affirmation.

Without a word, Jared drops down until he's on his knees. The thin fabric of his pajamas probably does little to insulate his skin from the cold concrete floor, but Gilfoyle quickly turns his attention back to Jared's expectant face. His lips are slightly agape but his eyes are wide, watching, waiting.

Gilfoyle unbuttons his jeans and lowers the zipper, the waistband of his underwear soon to follow. He takes his cock in his hand and pumps it to full hardness, while his other hand moves into the back of Jared's hair. When he slips his cock past Jared's lips, Jared having widened his mouth further to accommodate the girth, he tilts Jared's head to the side to watch it bulge against his cheek. He makes a few slow thrusts, each stretching Jared's cheek taut then letting it go slack. Jared's eyes don't leave his.

"No need for that," Gilfolye tells him, noticing this. "You can close your eyes and forget it's me; it's not gonna hurt my feelings."

Their eyes stay locked for a beat before Jared complies.

Gilfoyle pulls back one more time, then straightens Jared's head and begins thrusting properly. He works himself deep into Jared's open throat until he's able to bottom out, Jared's nose pressed into his pubic hair.

When he lets him go, Jared hunches over slightly and catches his breath in great heaving gasps. His hands, large and loosely curled, rest atop his thighs, and the stress on his respiratory system has brought color to his milky complexion. His erection, untouched, strains through his pants.

Gilfoyle pumps his spit-slickened cock until Jared's recovered. Once his breathing's evened out, Jared takes him into his own hand to pump several strokes himself, then replaces his hand with his mouth once more.

Now, Gilfoyle keeps the motion of his hips to a slight, occasional stutter as Jared bobs his head obscenely. _Dear Satan in Hell, he's good at this._ He works the length with perfect suction, down to the same point they'd reached before at the base. Each time he pulls back, his tongue chases the precum that beads at the tip. Gilfoyle's soon feeling close, and with just a quick warning – "Gonna come," – he pulls out to streak Jared's face in hot, white bursts. He aims the final gush of semen onto Jared's lips and tongue.

Once fully spent, Gilfoyle casually arranges himself back into his jeans. As he exits the garage to return to his own room, he hears behind him, soft and low,

"Thank you, Richard."


End file.
